Lost in Suburbia: Just another dog schnarticle

Wednesday

Aug 26, 2009 at 12:01 AMAug 26, 2009 at 11:55 AM

“That is a really cute dog!” I said to a woman as she got out of her car with an armful of fluff. She put the fluff down on the ground, and it turned into a dog and did a little happy dance. “What kind is he?” I asked. “He’s a Schnoodle.” A flurry of jokes came to mind, and I had to consciously stifle them to make sure I didn’t blurt them out loud.

Tracy Beckerman

“That is a really cute dog!” I said to a woman as she got out of her car with an armful of fluff. She put the fluff down on the ground, and it turned into a dog and did a little happy dance.

“What kind is he?” I asked.

“He’s a Schnoodle.”

I raised my eyebrows. A flurry of jokes came to mind, and I had to consciously stifle them to make sure I didn’t blurt them out loud. But even with my best efforts, one escaped.

“Oh really?” I said. “Vould you like some Weiner Schnitzel vith your Schnoodle?”

“What?”

“Um, I mean, what kind of dog is a Schnoodle?” I asked. I could sense that I was on shaky ground here. Every time the word “Schnoodle” came out of my mouth, I had this incredible urge to put on lederhosen and yodel.

“It’s part Schnauzer and part poodle,” she explained.

“Oh.” I looked at the dog. Despite the ridiculous name, he was really cute. “Can I pet him?”

“Sure!”

I reached down and touched the dog. His coat was surprisingly soft.

“He’s really soft,” I said as I tickled him under his chin. He wagged his stump of a tail vigorously.

“I know,” she agreed. “I love to sit and stroke him.”

“You like to sit and stroke your Schnoodle?” I repeated, and then I snorted. She looked at me. This was bad. I really had to bite my tongue.

“Um, what’s his name?” I asked her.

“Schneider.”

“Schneider? Your Schnoodle’s name is Schneider?” I said. Then I burst out laughing.

Now she was glaring at me. “What’s so funny?”

“Um. I’m sorry. I, uh, I had an uncle named Schneider.” I lied. “He liked to drink schnapps.” She stared at me.

“It’s just a funny coincidence.” I said, giggling again. I knew it was a lame excuse, but it was all I could come up with. “I had an uncle named Schnieder -- you have a Schnoodle named Schneider --” I started, and then trailed off. Too many jokes. My brain shut down.

Now, this was not the first time I had encountered one of these poodle mixes. I have met Labradoodles, Goldendoodles, Maltipoos, Yorkipoos, Cockapoos, Scoodles, Poogles and Puggles. Some of these dogs had silly names, and some of these dogs were silly looking, but I have never had a reaction to the names the way I did to the Schnoodle. I knew if I didn’t cut it out, the lady was going to sic her Schnoodle on me. Unfortunately, just thinking about this made me laugh again.

I realized I left her kind of hanging and I needed to say something to wrap up the conversation. But I was sure that if I said “Schnoodle” again, I was going to schnicker, I mean snicker, so I decided to change the subject.

“Do you have any other dogs?” I asked.

“Yes, she said brightly. “We have two others.”

“Oh! What are they?”

“They’re Schnockers.”

“Schnockers?”

“Yes,” she explained. “They are part Schnauzer and part Cocker Spaniel.”

“You have a Schnoodle and two Schnockers?” I asked her, barely containing myself.

“Yeah,” she said.

I smiled. “Your husband is a very lucky man!”

Tracy Beckerman’s book, “Rebel without a Minivan” is available online at www.rebelwithoutaminivan.com and Amazon. Read Tracy’s blog at www.lostinsuburbia.net.